


The Fault In Our Jars

by rboudreau



Series: The Fault [10]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Communication, Fights, Hero Complex, M/M, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:54:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22475950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rboudreau/pseuds/rboudreau
Summary: If we ever get in an argument, I'm going to make sure I tighten all the jars in the house so that you have to talk to me.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: The Fault [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/109178
Comments: 9
Kudos: 283





	The Fault In Our Jars

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, here I am nearly five years later with an installment that inspired this entire series. Better late than never, I guess?

It had started several years ago, back when Ian had been living at the Milkovich house.

They never claimed to be a perfect couple. They fought often, always with raised voices, and occasionally with fists. Sometimes Mickey would barely talk to him for days, if the fight was bad enough.

Ian wasn’t sure what made him do it that first time, but he’d gone through the Milkovich house tightening up every jar he could find that he knew Mickey used a lot. The peanut butter in the cupboard, the pickles in the fridge, the little mason jar in the bedroom Mickey kept his weed in, the protein powder Mickey used in the mornings---he must have spent at least a half hour while Mickey was at the Alibi tightening all these lids all over the house.

Why? Because the only words he’d gotten out of Mickey since their fight were “hey” and “see ya” when he was coming or going from the house, and he _needed_ to get Mickey to talk to him again.

Sure enough, Mickey had come home a few hours later, mumbled another “hey”, and went to go take a shower. Ian sat on the couch pretending to read a book, waiting for the moment Mickey reemerged.

The shower turned off about five minutes later, and a few minutes after that, Ian heard Mickey swearing at his small jar of this hair texturizing shit he’d recently become obsessed with. Ian smirked, hearing him bang the jar on the sink to try to loosen it up.

A half hour went by before Mickey made his presence known again, going to the kitchen to make himself something to eat. Ian watched out of the corner of his eye as he grabbed a loaf of bread, a knife, and the jar of peanut butter and tossed them on the counter. He bit back a groan, watching Mickey’s biceps flexing as he tried to open the peanut butter for a good thirty seconds.

“Motherfucker,” Mickey hissed at the jar, switching hands several times, using his shirt to try to get a better grip, banging the lid on the counter like he did with the one in the bathroom. He growled in annoyance, throwing the jar back down on the counter. He ripped the fridge open, grabbing some sandwich meats, a jar of mayonnaise, and a bottle of mustard. Ian watched him struggle with the mayonnaise like the others, frowning disappointedly when Mickey eventually wrenched the lid off after a few tries.

Mickey went about making the rest of his sandwich, threw everything back in the fridge, and took his plate back to the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Ian sighed, flipping the page of his book even though he hadn’t read anything. He didn’t know what he could do to get Mickey to talk to him again. 

A few agonizing minutes later, Ian was praising his mind as Mickey came stomping out of the bedroom and shoving a jar in his face.

“For the love of God, will you please open this stupid fucking thing? I don’t know why the universe is out to get me today, but I’m going to start throwing shit soon.”

Ian took Mickey’s weed jar out of his hand with a small smile, putting barely any effort into twisting the top before it popped open. Mickey grumbled at the stupid jar, annoyed that he couldn’t get it open himself. Ian offered it back to him and he took it, their fingers brushing against each other momentarily.

“Thank you,” Mickey muttered quietly. He turned to go back to the bedroom, but was stopped by Ian’s hands gently grabbing his hips, pulling him a little closer. Mickey sighed but didn’t pull away from Ian’s grasp.

“You still mad at me?” Ian asked, looking every bit like a wounded puppy.

Mickey shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “You still being an asshole?” Ian’s thumbs brushed against his hip bones beneath his shirt, smoothing little circles into his skin, and Mickey couldn’t help but to lean into the touch.

“No, I think I was enough of an asshole the other day, don’t you?” Mickey scoffed. “I’d rather go back to being your very sexy and very loving boyfriend who only makes you smile and moan.”

He felt a smile twitch at his lips, and his hands moved of their own accord to rest on Ian’s forearms. “Yeah, okay.” He finally met Ian’s eyes, seeing the smile on Ian’s face as well. “Wanna come smoke this with me and fuck me till Svetlana comes home with the kid?”

Ian chuckled, standing up to press himself against Mickey’s body. He brushed his lips against Mickey’s gently. “Hell yeah. Let’s go.”

***

Now, here they were -- six months into being married, which was still a wild concept in both their brains, and they were in another fight. Ian thought it would blow over by the next morning, but when he’d woken up, Mickey had already left for work.

Ian had pouted, nuzzling into Mickey’s pillow for a moment or two before finally getting out of bed. He got dressed, went downstairs to check on Franny and make sure she had breakfast, and found himself absentmindedly tightening the lids on jars for what felt like the millionth time over the course of his relationship with Mickey.

“Whatcha doin’, Uncle Ian?” Franny asked, watching him as he made his way through the lids in the kitchen.

“Hmm? Oh, nothing, sweetie. Hey, did you see Mickey before he left?”

She nodded at him as she sipped her water. “Uncle Mickey helped me get dressed and then watched some Paw Patrol with me and then he said he had work and told me to be good. And I told him I’m _always_ good, cause I think he forgot, and then he musta remembered cause he said he knew and gave me kisses before he left!”

He had to remind himself not to get jealous of a four year old getting kisses from his husband, and plastered on a smile for her. “Well that was nice of him.”

She nodded again. “Uncle Ian? How long till mommy calls?”

Ian sighed, hating that Franny had to be exposed to a parent doing jail time already. Not that the rest of the Gallaghers didn’t have to go through the same thing with Frank and Monica, but they’d all wanted better for Franny, and for Fred, and any other children that might end up joining their family. “Mommy calls at seven. You can talk to her for a little bit, and then you need your bath and you have to go to bed.”

“Is she coming home soon?”

Ian frowned, crouching down in front of Franny’s chair at the table. “We talked about this, remember? Mommy made a mistake, so the judge gave her a time out. If she’s good during her time out, hopefully she’ll be home soon. Until then, you’ve got me and all your uncles and your aunt Tami and your cousin Fred.” Her eyes looked a little watery, and Ian squeezed her leg gently. “Hey, after you’re done eating, why don’t you draw some pictures for Mommy and for Uncle Mickey, and for whoever else you want?”

She sniffled a little but put on her big girl face. “Okay.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Mickey came home that evening, Franny running into his arms right away. He picked her up with a smile and kissed her cheek. “Hey munchkin. How was your day?”

“Good! Me and Uncle Ian drew you pictures!” she exclaimed.

Mickey barely glanced in Ian’s direction, instead choosing to smooth out a wrinkle in Franny’s shirt. “Oh yeah? That’s nice, thanks kid. How ‘bout you show ‘em to me after I go take a shower? I smell like that gross ass mall right now.”

Franny giggled. “Okay! Then we can make dinner?”

He nodded as enthusiastically as he could muster. “Yeah. What’re you thinking tonight? Mac n’ cheese? Steak? Spaghetti?”

Her eyes lit up. “And meatballs?!”

He laughed. “Alright, I think we can manage that. Go keep Ian company till I get out, okay?”

“Okay!” 

She wiggled her way out of his arms, running back to her place beside Ian on the couch. Mickey turned and walked upstairs before Ian could even try to say a word to him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mickey struggled with the jar of spaghetti sauce, Franny watching him innocently from her spot on the counter, until he nearly broke the whole jar banging it on the edge of the stove. He clenched his jaw tightly, giving the spaghetti another stir in the pot before trying the sauce again.

He gave an annoyed sigh. “Ian,” he called.

Ian hid his smirk, jumping up from the couch quickly. He came up behind Mickey, hands finding his hips easily. “Yeah?” he breathed against Mickey’s neck. He felt Mickey tense, knowing he was still mad at him, and brushed his nose along Mickey’s skin. “Smell’s good.” They both knew Ian wasn’t talking about the food, and Mickey held back from pushing Ian away to avoid causing a scene in front of Franny.

“Open the sauce for me. My hands are slippery.”

Ian couldn’t stop himself from pushing closer to Mickey as he grabbed the jar, flexing his forearms in front of Mickey as he twisted the lid off with a small grunt in Mickey’s ear. He felt Mickey leaning into him for a moment before getting control of himself and leaning away again. Ian put the jar back down on the counter and dragged his hands down Mickey’s sides softly. “There you go.”

“Thanks.”

Ian stared at the back of Mickey’s head for a moment, opened his mouth to speak, then stopped and looked over at Franny. “Franny, can you go wash your hands for dinner and let Liam and Carl know it’s almost done?”

“Yes,” she said seriously, reaching her hands out to Ian so he could help her off the counter. He chuckled and moved away from Mickey to help her down, giving her a little tickle before letting her go. She laughed loudly and ran upstairs away from them.

He turned back to Mickey, reaching forward to rub the back of his neck gently. 

Mickey sighed heavily, leaning away from Ian’s touch. “Cut it out, man.” Instead of listening, Ian moved closer, wrapping an arm around Mickey’s waist and rested his chin on his shoulder.

“C’mon,” Ian pouted. “Just talk to me. I don’t wanna fight, Mick.”

“Yeah? Maybe you can start by being on my side for once,” Mickey snapped, pouring the sauce into a pan to get it heated up.

“I’m _always_ on your side, Mickey. We’re a team.”

“Then be on my fucking _team_ and help me--”

“We’re not killing Terry,” Ian interrupted, talking over him. Mickey growled, shoving Ian’s hand off him and moving away to put a strainer in the sink for the pasta. “Don’t act like that makes me your enemy, Mick. You think I wanna go through all that prison shit again? Terry’s a piece of shit, he’s not worth going to jail over.”

Mickey whirled around, leveling him with an angry look. “You wanna know what I think is worth going to jail over? You. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again if I fucking have to. You know what else I think is worth it? This family. Your family, _our_ family. He almost burned the house down last week, Ian! Franny and Fred were taking naps upstairs! Liam was doing his homework at the table, and Carl was in the shower, and we were in bed! If Lip hadn’t come by to check on Fred when he did, we could’ve lost a hell of a lot more than the front stairs.”

He shoved past Ian to set some plates on the table. “Mick--”

“Look, you knew how I felt about this when we got married, alright? He’s never going to let me be happy, and he doesn’t give a fuck who else gets hurt in the process. You don’t want me back in prison, and I get that, but I’d rather be _there_ than have to watch him hurt the people I love. If you can’t deal with that, you should go file for divorce now.”

Ian caught his wrist as he went by again, tugging Mickey into his space. “No one is filing for divorce, you drama queen. I just...I _don’t_ want to see you back in prison. And I don’t want to see you getting killed. What am I supposed to do if you die because of all this?” he asked weakly, clinging to Mickey desperately.

Mickey found himself leaning into Ian’s body, a few tears burning at his eyes as he shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know, man. You...take comfort in the fact that I died trying to protect our family.”

“Because of me.”

“Because I love you so _fucking_ much that I’d protect you and everyone else in this house even if it meant I died because of it.”

Ian buried his face in Mickey’s neck, arms wrapped tightly around his waist so he couldn’t escape. “Well I love you too fucking much to let you die for any of us.”

“You’re talking worst case scenario here. The shithead’s so blinded by homophobia, chances are he wouldn’t even expect me to get a one-up on him. I don’t even think I would get locked up, I think the city of Chicago would _thank_ me for getting rid of that asshole.”

“And what if I’m not willing to take that chance?”

Mickey pulled away far enough to look him in the eyes, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair off Ian’s forehead. “You vowed to love me till death do us part. For better or worse. Are there any exceptions to that?”

Ian frowned, tightening his grip on Mickey’s waist. “No. Of course not. I meant what I said on our wedding day.”

Mickey exhaled shakily. “Then I need you to let me do what I have to do to protect us. If I get locked up, if I die, whatever. I don’t give a fuck. I just gotta know that you’re still gonna love me no matter what happens.”

Ian didn’t answer for a long time, so long that Mickey felt the old doubt and panic starting to fill his chest. It was nearly suffocating, that doubt worming its way in that his husband didn’t love him as much as Mickey loved him. 

And then Ian sighed, fingers tangled in Mickey’s shirt tightly. “If we’re gonna kill him, we need to either make sure it looks like an accident, or make sure no one can ever find his body.”

The suffocation disappeared as Mickey smiled brightly, lunging forward to kiss Ian roughly. His hands grabbed at Ian’s shirt, his tongue and teeth worked against Ian’s mouth, dragging Ian as close as possible. 

“Fucking love you,” Mickey groaned into his mouth. “So fucking much. Even if you are an asshole with the jars all the time.”

Ian choked on a laugh, pulling away from Mickey’s lips in shock. “You know about the jars?!”

Mickey rolled his eyes, hand sliding up to wrap around the back of Ian’s neck. “I’m not a fucking idiot, man. Think I’m dumb enough to not realize the only time I can’t open any of the shit in the house is when I’m pissed at you? You love acting like a knight in shining armor.”

Ian grinned sheepishly. “Sorry?” he offered halfheartedly. 

Mickey shrugged. “You’re lucky your big strong tough guy routine turns me on.”

He nodded teasingly. “I’m very lucky.” Mickey rolled his eyes again before pulling Ian back into a kiss, not breaking away from him until he smelled the spaghetti sauce starting to burn.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I appreciate any and all comments/kudos/critique you are willing to give me. Thanks for taking the time to read this!
> 
> If you want to chat, you can find me on tumblr at [ be-your-own-anchor5](http://www.be-your-own-anchor5.tumblr.com)


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